#hinge and bracket

[neil-gaiman]

dear mister gaiman,

every time i see crowley as nanny ashtoreth, he reminds me of a very amazing female impersonator who i grew up with and loved as a teenager and who just recently passed away as i had to unfortunately find out. his name was george logan and he played dr. evadne hinge of "hinge and bracket" with patrick fyffe back in the 80s and 90s.

i had completely forgotten about them until that particular scene with crowley. and upon googling how george was doing (since patrick died way too soon), i found out about george's death. i was (still am) very heartbroken, because they were AWESOME!!!!! especially their live shows / gala evenings. but it prompted me to re-watch their tv show again and i re-discovered my love for gilbert & sullivan operettas. (i could actually picture aziraphale listening to those every now and then).

in general i see a lot of crowley and aziraphale in evadne and hilda's personalities. one is dark, the other is blond. one is moody, the other is always cheerful and too pure for her own good. even the bit of naivity aziraphale has going on screams hilda to me. it's such a treat to find similar behavioral patterns like that and it makes me love good omens so much more now.

i just wanted to share this little thought with you without asking any other questions since i am sure you have a ton to answer.

i hope you are doing well. greetings from berlin.

That made me smile.

Here's a little moment of Hinge and Bracket for those people who have never experienced them:

[purplewillowchicken]

INTERVIEWER: You two are the next Morecombe and Wise. (British comedy double act. Much beloved)

MICHAEL SHEEN: Hinge and Bracket more like!

This is Hinge and Bracket. A 1970s, high brow, drag act. It's so them.

@neil-gaiman write something. Make this happen.

[kobriena]

RIP George Logan. 

The Dr Evadne Hinge to Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket.

They were bloody brilliant.  And no-one gave a toss they were drag acts, they were talented and funny.

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

It's time for a mini-bracket!

Yes, I know we are right in the thick of a bracket already, but I thought maybe now that half our contestants have been eliminated, we could take a moment to reflect on those that did not make the cut in round 1 and, moreover, why they didn't.

That's right - we are going to pit the losers of our Most Unhinged Cast Member Bracket against one another to determine who is, in fact, the most hinged! After all, what is comedy without a straight man? What is a DnD party without someone who read the rulebook and actually keeps everyone on track? What is a game show without the occasional contestant who cares a normal amount and is just here to have a good time? So this mini-bracket is a shout out to the hinged heroes of Dropout - they may be in the minority, but the chaos wouldn't be the same without them.

This mini-bracket will consist of just three rounds, lasting 1 day each. To keep this quick and get it finished before round 3 starts, we'll start out with four polls of four cast members each before switching to one-on-one polls for the semi-finals and final.

Now, without further ado, let round 1 of the mini-bracket of hingedness commence!

[bitchthefuck1]

You should absolutely still get furniture secondhand where appropriate but dear LORD double check the assembly if it's originally from ikea bc I swear some of y'all are tossing out the instructions and putting these together in the dark based on vibes

[girls4etho]

im going to kill myself and take this door with me

[gone2soon-rip]

GEORGE LOGAN (1943-Died May 19th 2023,at 78).British musical comedian,best known for his drag character of Dr Evadne Hinge,alongside Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket,in their televisoon series Dear Ladies,and frewquent appearance son 70′s and 80′s tv and theatre,with their comic musical characters Hinge & Bracket.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hinge_and_Bracket

[partsfe006]

Glastender 06001373 Hinge/Bracket Set, Right | PartsFe

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[passionoverfashion]

Kitchen Dining in Portland

Eat-in kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island in a mid-sized traditional u-shaped room with medium tone wood flooring.

[snitling]

The same Dotsy and Sadie who were the Agony Aunts in Terry Pratchett's acclaimed Discworld series?

As one who's seen the season 2 trailer of Good Omens one too many times, I'm getting the feeling that Gabriel is up to something that Heaven and Hell don't know about. I feel as though he became human on purpose to find out what Aziraphale's weakness is to get rid of him as well as Crowley. Correct me if I'm wrong

Gabriel came to Earth to go on holiday to Spain with Aziraphale and Crowley and their wives, Dottie and Sadie. He's working as an art critic and when he sees the picture hanging in Crowley's bed and breakfast bedroom he realizes it's an original painting by Jerry Picasso (Pablo's baby brother) and resolves to steal it on the same night that the neighborhood Dress as a Burglar and Win a Fridge competition is held. Hilarity ensues.

[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

So this is one of those tournament blogs. This one is about gimmick blogs.

Submissions are closed!

I'm honestly shocked that it seems like nobody has done this before.

How this is going to work

So the amount of blogs in this tournament obviously hinges upon how many submissions this gets. I'm going to use the greatest power of two that you can get from the amount of valid* submissions. For instance, if there are 11 submissions, this tournament would have 8 blogs competing.

A gimmick blog can be submitted multiple times, but the ones that get removed from the tournament if the number isn't a power of 2 are the ones who lose a series of polls I will run after the debatable cases are taken care of.

*When I say valid, I mean that the blog is actually a gimmick blog. If a submitted blog is debatably a gimmick blog (which is to say that it's not obviously a gimmick blog, but it isn't just someone who submitted their main and said their gimmick is being cool or whatever), then I will probably run a poll to see if you people consider it a gimmick blog or not.

If you run a blog that was submitted to this bracket and for whatever reason don't want to participate, just let me know

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

Most Hinged Dropout Cast Member (Finals)

PLEASE NOTE: This poll is for the most hinged person. For the ongoing main bracket judging people on unhingedness, click here

Click here for more info on this mini-bracket

[brummiereader]

Binding Love (Part Seven Final Chapter/ Dark!Tommy)

Summary: Your husband has found you. And after a morning of confrontations, of mixed reactions, of tangled emotions, you are left to make a choice that will seal your fate forever. Will you forever be bound to your husband? Or will your predicted end, spoken through the words of the old lady, be your final step into freedom?

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, mutual pining, angst, murder, suicidal thoughts, smut.

Word Count: 4K

Authors Note: The last part of this chapter picks up from the beginning scene of this series.

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

A day full of chores wasn't what you envisioned for your morning when you woke up at the crack of dawn the next day and forgoed your mandatory English brew for the pile of mounting laundry stacked in a wicker basket at the foot of your bed.

But yet here you were, freshly laundered sheets blooming into the crisp morning air one by one as you shook the creases from their crinkled corners before hanging them out on the washing line in the garden of your quaint cottage.

A therapeutic cleansing, a dance of repetitive movements until you dulled out the uneasy thoughts that chased you throughout the day if left to dwell on them. Clean home, clean mind. Or so you thought.

"Elsie, shoes off!" you broke the peaceful silence of red robins chirping above, of your wellies crunching along the frosty grass with each shuffling foot down the patchwork of laundry as your eyes darted to your daughter climbing the bricked steps to the kitchen door.

" Yes, mummy!" she called back to your rolling eyes, watching her discarded boots tumble down the concrete stairs as she raced to the bottle of milk delivered to your doorstep for the well-deserved bowl of porridge she was keen to devour after a tiring morning of shutting doors and removing shoes.

Running your hands along the freshly hung sheets with each step back to your home, you came to a stop when an unsightly bobble of lint caught your eye on the pristine sheet of linen you had spent the early hours of the day scrubbing.

" I think not" your brow furrowed, flicking the ball of fluff from your bed throw when the creak of the garden gate swinging open pricked your ears.

Brow scrunched, you stepped back from the emerging shadow looming behind the draped linen as you slowly walked along the trail of mismatched colours obscuring your view until a gap between your perfectly placed laundry appeared.

Fingers pulling back the curtain of washing, the rusty gate at the bottom of your garden slowly began to appear as your startled heart rapidly began to thud against its bony cage.

"Fuck..." a strained chuckle and hand to your chest had you feeling foolish for letting your fragile nerves trick you into believing the looming hour of your discovery had met its ticking end as you watched the rickety wooden frame scuff against its lock with every gust of wind as the heavens parted, illuminating your picturesque garden and drying laundry once again.

" Elsie, how many times have I told you? Shut the gate, shut the doors" you marched towards the weathered fence with a heavy sigh as you rattled with the rusty lock until your enthusiastic manhandling had it breaking off into your hand. " Shit"

" Mummy, she found me! She came all this way!" your daughter screeched with excitement, waving her hand and the sloshing bottle of freshly churned milk back and forth on the kitchen floor as your focus and squinting eyes honed in on the weathered hinge in your hand.

" She was right there, on the doorstep!" She pointed through the zigzag of hallways to your front door with a dimpled smile as you stayed enthralled by the task in hand.

"Ok, darling " you absently replied, mumbling a string of insults at the fiddly bracket and screws in your hand.

" How are you misses pony? Did you have a safe journey? You've traveled such a long way for someone so little" she trotted to her bedroom, loved toy with a new mane of locks and coat of paint clutched in her hand. It's mysterious way back to her left to her young imagination.

" There" you gave the aged gate a firm shake before examining the damage to the tips of your brittle nails before plodding back to your home, weaved basket in hand in search of the abandoned pair of boots belonging to your daughter.

With a knitted a brow you came to a stop at the top of the slabbed steps, eyes darting down to the neatly arranged pair of muddy boots sitting on the doorstep and not tossed into the unkempt grass you saw them launched into moments before.

Did she pick them up?, a passing thought left you glaring down at them with a frown as you shook off your shoes, numb toes dipping into a puddle of milk on the kitchen tiles as the letter box began to rattle.

" Elsie!" you huffed, pulling off your soggy socks as you padded to your front door. Too distracted, too frazzled to notice the smell of tobacco smoke weaving its way from room to room.

" Hello Miss, got your newspaper" Harry, the cherry-cheeked paperboy pulled the ragged corners of your paper from the letter box as his eyes darted behind you in search of your daughter.

" Thank you, Harry" you smiled, turning the pages as the chatty four-foot boy began to inundate you on his mornings observations and dislike of his mum's cooking.

" Is that your posh car down the road?" the muddy kneed seven-year-old nodded to the end of the lane as your fingers flicked from page to page with a shake of your head, eyes consumed by the latest goings-on in the world.

" My dad's got an old banger, puts sawdust in its engine.." he continued as he adjusted the heavy bag of deliveries on his shoulder as your eyes scanned down the freshly printed page.

" I've only got five more houses to do, and me mams made bread and butter pudding for me for when I get back. I hate it miss, it tastes like soggy..." he continued his enthusiastic conversation when your darting eyes caught the flashing headline printed in block on the next page.

Notorious Peaky Blinders boss released from Winston Green prison due to insufficient evidence related to the missing person cases that left the residence of Birmingham with conspiracy theories of their own, you read, re-read and read again until your eyes strained, until your thundering heart left a deafening whistle ringing in your ears.

" Can Elsie come out and play?" young Harry looked up at the thousand-mile stare glaring past him. "Miss?"

"Bye mummy!" your daughter scooted past you, knocking your shaky body into the frame of the door upon hearing her friend as she looped her knitted scarf around her neck, eager to join Harry on the rest of his round.

" Elsie...Elsie wait" you grabbed hold of her arm, swallowing back the grating dryness in your throat, the welling tears of fear in your eyes.

" Please?" she pouted up at you as you knelt down to her small frame, pulling the fronts of her coat around her knitted scarf with trembling fingers as your eyes darted to the small cobbled lane in front of your house.

They wouldn't just let him roam freely, they had men following him. You were safe. Safe, you convinced yourself as you scanned the farmers' pastures a short walk from your cottage. Eyes darting to every tree, every bale of hay that sat lonely in the empty field. You were safe.

" Be...be careful" you apprehensively let her go with brimming eyes of worry, watching her skipping steps along the stoned path as you battled with the overbearing, over-consuming need to pull her back into the house and bunker down.

" Love you, mummy!" she shouted from the gate with a mittened hand before her brunette locks danced around the corner out of sight.

" Love you..." you mouthed back, shaky fingers pressing against your lips as you backed your stiffened legs into the warmth of your home, your thoughts harassing you with the sentiments you felt the previous day and the dread that now shrouded them.

How foolish you had been to think your husband would forgive and forget as you were so eager to do just yesterday. For Tommy never forgot, and never forgave.

With each a makeshift boat in stick form in their hands, Harry the paperboy and your daughter launched their battleships into the flowing stream, running along beside them with giggles and rowdy words of encouragement for theirs to be the winning logged boat when the clumsy footing of your six-year-old had her stumbling into a burly obstacle of human form, puffing on a cigar from the corner of his mouth.

" Johnny!"

Back pressed up against the door, you battled to steady the heavy breaths of panic rising from your chest as you clutched the crinkling newspaper between your fingers.

You were safe. You and Elsie were safe, you closed your eyes, shutting out the nagging feelings of fear that had overtaken every trembling limb of your body before your thumbling hands jostled with the brassy lock of the door.

With determination to battle through the shaky end to your morning, you padded through the halls of your home, tossing the news of Tommy's release into the bin for the pilling sink of dishes waiting for you in the kitchen.

Once these were finished, you'd go get Elsie. You'd call the detective, you told yourself, hands deep in the soapy water filled with cutlery as your eyes darted to and from the back door and the view of your garden from the kitchen window.

"Fuck" you surrendered to your nerves as your plodding feet and narrowing eyes approached the silver key, wiping the frothy dish soap from your hands on the silky fabric of your dressing gown before turning the intricate lock with a click.

Safe within the four walls of your home, every shut door, every secure entrance had you confident of your safety as you settled the small lock to your home on the wooden kitchen worktop beside you.

This last pan, then you'll go get her, you decided to leave the last of your chores and respond to your motherly need to have your child in eyesight, in earshot of you as you scrubbed with a knitted brow at the charred remains of last night's dinner embedded into your stove pot.

Frothy bubbles swishing back and forth in the murky water, you became enthralled with the task in hand, unbeknownst of the steady footsteps approaching you until you felt a pair of leather gloves slip around the curves of your waist, settling on your stomach.

" Hello, darling" the familiar sound of a gravelly voice breathed against your ear, chiseled jaw settling against your cheek as your eyes darted up to the weathered window of your kitchen to see your husband stood behind you, piercing stare and clutched hands holding your every move, every reaction in place.

"Tomm..." your mumbling voice, frozen with fear caught in your throat as you dropped the pan in your hand with a clanging thud against the tin sink.

" Shh" he hushed your rapid breaths, gloves trailing up your arms to your heaving shoulders, to the velvety skin of your neck and the chain looped around it.

" No longer a noose, then?" his brow cocked with surprise to see the circulaire band resting against your chest as he pulled the necklace into his hand, thumb brushing over the promised vows that bound you together before letting it slip back between the curves of your breasts, back to your heart.

"I...I" your eyes welled with tears, pools of fear blurring out the image of your husband in the reflection of the glass as his ghosting lips peppered kisses along your neck, as the feeling of his gun, nestled in his holster, digged into your back as he pushed his body against yours.

Hands clutched on the sink's edge, you watched your husband's roaming hands and lazy eyes graze over your body. Starved of your touch, of the warmth of your body he'd craved in the nights he'd spent in his cell as you dipped your fingers into the greying water.

" You've upset me, Y/N" he sighed heavily into your ear, fiery breath prickling down your neck as you mumbled your desperate apologies, fingers silently wading through the water for something, anything to defend yourself when he finally snapped out of the comfort he sought from you.

" But I'm an understanding man. And it's dawned on me that I didn't protect you enough. Didn't keep you away from that bastard and his lies. But you don't have to worry about him now, love" your eyes widened at his murderous admission, your lifeline disposed of by the hands of your vengeful husband.

" I'd never hurt you, Y/N" you felt his grasp on you tighten, urging you to agree to his delusions that precariously tethered on the edge of insanity as your fingers curled around the handle of a knife at the bottom of the sink.

"I know " you pushed through the unbearable fear you felt as your grasp tightened around your only means to defend yourself from your husband's crazed mind when Tommy's eyes flew open, hand plunging into the water to grab hold of yours.

" Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn't if I were you, darling" he squeezed his fingers around your hand, forcing you to release the knife with a crushing grip.

Spinning you around to face him, Tommy pushed the curve of your back into the worktop with a grunting slam. Legs splayed, looming frame pushed against yours in a suffocating hold as the snap of his leather gloves curled around your face, grabbing your chin.

" I've been reasonable enough, forgiving enough. But you took it too far. You took my daughter, Y/N" Tommy seethed through gritted teeth at your daring actions, succumbing to the pent-up anger of you abandoning him.

" You left me and took my fucking daughter!" his thunderous voice bellowed in your face, strained veins tunneling down his neck as his fingers digged into the fleshy pads of your cheeks.

" You scared me, Tommy. Please.. you're scaring me" stuttering cries hysterically wailed from your lips as your eyes shut out the frightening image of your husband's anger piercing into you.

" Scaring you?" Tommy's brows knitted together with confusion as all logical reasoning as to what had your trembling in fear escaped him. Convinced he only had your best interests at heart.

" Tom" your eyes pleaded with him, searching for the man you had married as you refreshed his ignorance with the atrocities he had committed. " The bodies, the murders..."

" Darling, I was just keeping you safe" your reasoning with his paranoia took its expected fall as Tommy shuffled the weight of his body from one foot to the other with a heavy sigh of bewilderment.

" I know and...and you did. You did" you entered his state of mind if only to delay the grimacing effects of his thunderous voices return as your shaky fingers drifted to ground him with your gentle touch.

" I missed you" his voice softened, grip loosening to caress the redness from your cheek as the pendulum of his yo-yo demeanor swung back and forth without warning.

" I missed you too" you echoed the weeks' worth of foolish sentiments you had felt for him through sobs. The empty void your escape had left now filled once again with a twisted flurry of emotions.

" Come back to me, Tommy" you wept for the man that would never return through strangled cries as he pressed his cheek into the warmth of your touch.

" I'm here, sweetheart" he cupped your face, thumbs brushing your grieving tears for his former self from your eyes as he pressed his head to yours.

" I love you, Y/N. Let me show you how much I love you" his lips ghosted against your mouth, his feelings of anger momentarily dulled by his distorted understanding of your weeping admissions.

" Tommy, Elsie...Elsie will be home soon" your scrambling hands pushed his need to connect with you away, to have you beneath him to dull the intrusive thoughts that plagued you, he couldn't control.

" Let's go upstairs" he ignored you as his pent-up eagerness continued with the unbuckling of his belt, with groans of want moaning against your tongue.

" Elsie...Tom" a dazed, breathy sigh left your drying throat as he pushed your knickers to the side, his throbbing desire shielded by the scuffling layers of his heavy coat as he hurried to pull himself free.

" Fuck sweetheart...you like that, eh?" you fell forward onto his shoulder as he ran his leathered finger across your opening, your head whirling in a battle of emotions against his strong frame as you desperately tried to pull yourself from his hold on you.

Was this what you had belittled yourself to? Giving into the crumbs of his gentler side, of his passionate side free from the rage bubbling within him? So weak, so desperate, you stifled the cries mounting in your chest as the re-emerging sounds of your husband's moans in your ear, to the feeling of him lining himself up against you had you hurtling back into the moment.

" Tommy, stop!" you suddenly pulled yourself out of the intensity of his touch with a shaky breath, leaving him with grinding teeth as he buckled his straining cock back into his briefs.

" Elsie will be back soon" you firmly stated, distancing yourself from his turning body as he slid the leather strap into the loop of his belt with a shake of his head.

" She won't" Tommy adjusted the lapels of his jacket, shoulders rolling off the unsatisfied urge still pressed against his trousers.

" What...where is she, Tommy? Tommy, where is my daughter?" your eyes widened, trembling hands frantically searching behind you for something to lean your slumping body against as panic hurtled towards you.

" You'll never take her from me like that again, Y/N. You'll never leave me again" he watched your frantic eyes scan the room for the misplaced key as your desperations rattled against its handle.

"Looking for this?" he shot you a smirk of amusement as his gloved finger pulled the silver key with a scrape along the kitchen worktop into his palm.

" Darling..." he sent you a toying smile, pulling the plug from the sink until the frothy soap slipped down the drain with the clanging sound of the key against the pipes following it. "...you're not going anywhere"

With a scream hurled his way, you pushed a wooden chair in his path as he strode with long steps towards you.

"Now, Y/N" he warned you with a pointed finger in your fleeing direction over the turned furniture barricading him from you as you scrambled for the door, when your shaky body and a twist of your misplaced foot had you collapsing forward with a sharp blow to your head on the leg of a chair as your body hit the tiled flooring.

" Shit" Tommy waded through the path of wood to get to you as your mumbling voice mouthed his name, eyes drifting in and out of a hazy darkness.

"Come on sweetheart, up you get" Tommy hauled you up into his body, eyes darting with a wincing concern at the bloody cut to your head trickling down your cheek as he rose to his feet with your limp body in his arms for the front door.

"We're going for a little drive"

" Y/N!" Tommy's voice bellowed after you through the thick bushy hedgerow of the steep coastal path as your shoeless feet scraped along the rocky lane with each precariously placed foot.

" Fuck..." you quietly winced through gritted teeth as you slid down the thawny hill to the footpath below, dangerously close to the cliff's edge and thrashing waves of the English channel.

Bloody gash to your head, bloody feet, bloody hands, bloody slip, you cowered your bloody trembling body behind a boulder of chalky limestone as your grunting husband scooted down the hillside after you.

" Enough, Y/N" he rested the palms of his hands on his knees, body hunched over for a breather to fill his strained lungs.

" Come on, let's go home. I want us to get a head start before rush hour hits" his unfazed demeanour, his careless attitude to the day's events and his frightening role in them had him straightening his cracking back like one would after a long nap as his eyes darted to the rocky boulder he knew you were concealed behind.

" Where's Elsie, Tommy? your trembling hand held you steady against the stoney wall separating you as your eyes darted around for a means of escape.

" Home. Safe and sound waiting for her parents to get back, and tuck her into bed" he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, squinting eyes scanning the horizon and the French cliffs of Calais in the distance.

" You've had your little tantrum, now come on" he flicked the aspen match over the rocky edge with a disgruntled huff. " Y/N?"

" I don't believe you" you swallowed back the grating dryness in your throat, desperate to quench your thirst from the hours of being confined in the boot of Tommy's car as you pushed your foot along the gritted path, ears honing in on the sound of the pebbles descending down the cliffs edge.

" She's my child. And you're my wife. I'd never hurt either if you, you know that" a heavy sigh with a cloud of smoke left his throat as he pinched the band of stress, of self inflicted turmoil he had created from his brow.

For as deranged as his behaviour had been, as twisted as his agenda had become, you and Elsie were his reason to keep going, to stay alive.

Was that where his fears came from? Was that why he had let the call of his paranoia overtake him? He was scared of losing the two things in his life worth living for?

" Y/N this can go one of two ways, love. You either come with me freely or I take you by force. But you won't be leaving here without me" he calmly gave you your options as he threw his burnt cigarette to his feet.

" And if I do come with you, then what?" you appeared from behind the large boulder, backs of your feet slowly walking you to the cliffs edge and the crashing waves battering against the mountain of rocks below you.

" We go home, to be a famil..." his words petered out as his narrowing eyes darted behind you at the deathly step you were mere inches away from making.

" Darling, come away from the edge" his panicked eyes widened, ushering you back to him, back to safety with a hand stretched out as he slowly inched himself closer to you.

" Will you stop?" your heels shuffled back, curling around the rocky edge as your husband's clenching jaw and bulging eyes watched every miniscule move in silence. Words stolen from him as the pumping blood in his veins rushed to his ears with a deafening whistle. " Tommy, will you stop?"

" Y/N, please. Don't do this to me. Don't let her be right" his chest heaved with a gut-wrenching fear that the old lady's vapid words had met their predicted end.

" Will you stop, Tommy?!" you screamed at him, the force of your demanding question causing you to almost lose your footing entirely. A stomach flipping moment that had your husband match the velocity of your voice in a bellowing panic of honesty.

" No! I will not stop! You're my wife, Y/N! I will never stop trying to keep you safe! I will never, fucking, let you go! Do you hear me?!" his strained voice and welling eyes, encompassed his reddening face of desperation as he relented to his tamed vulnerabilities, whispering one last plea for you to step away. "Baby, please..."

" In the bleak mid-winter" you closed your fluttering lashes as you lifted you arms to a gust of wind swirling by, letting it take you body over the cliffs edge with a breath of relief.

" Y/N!!" your husband screamed for you as he lunged forward to the rocky hillside, his heart ripping from his chest in a searing pain no bullet, no knife to his flesh could ever inflict on him as his body hit the gritted ground.

Face covered with stoney pebbles, Tommy pulled his fallen body from the floor in a hazy swaying of shaky limbs as a feeling of nothingness of hopelessness tore his heart in two.

" Darling..." he closed his eyes, tips of his feet on the rocky edge as he answered deaths call for him to follow you over into the salty water when his inching boots sent a tumbling of small rocks over the cliffs edge.

Eyes darting down to the echoing sounds of them bouncing off a stoney path, Tommy pushed another heap of grit over the edge when his widening eyes had him crouching down to the rocky hillside.

"Fuck! FUCK!!" a wail of realisation left his collapsing lungs as his bellowing voice traveled across the rippling waves, a sickly feeling plummeting to his stomach at the sight of your bloody footprints fleeing along the small ridge below.

You had tricked him. Played your winning move in his game of control as his observations of you lapsed while you plotted your perfectly timed fall.

"Huh" he sniffed back the foolishness he felt, the tears pooled in his lashes as his eyes scanned the sandy beach below until they landed on you, locks of hair blowing in the sea salt air and your sentiments for him made known with a middle finger aimed up at him.

" Love you too, darling" he quietly mouthed through the smile curling on the corners of his lips as the setting sun glistened against the blues of his eyes, glowing rays of orange warming his skin.

Jumping down to the small path below, a youthful gleem of rebirth shone behind you husband's eyes as he hunted you down along the sandy dooms. A picturesque sight to any bystander watching the playful display of a married couple's chase along the sandy beaches of England's shores. But the reality of what was unfolding through the misinterpreted screams of joy, the rapidly approaching feet and shouting warnings of your husband was a reality, a life far darker than anyone could imagine. A life of obsessiveness, of codependency, of control, of an unbreakable...binding love.

The end.

Thank you to everyone that commented, reblogged and liked this series. Your interactions have helped me no end. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the ending in the comments below! Thank you again ❤️.

Brummie xxx

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[molter-writes]

little grey ridge interlude (as a treat)

originally a bare-bones cut snippet from ch. 8, pls enjoy this little nugget of hurt/comfort for your viewing pleasure—

for more of this, check out grey ridge (ríl liatroma).

and for something saucier—the very messy public divorce au (lies, sex, videotape, 2x03-coded) bodhrán beat .

*******

Rhaenyra cannot physically handle the sound of it.

It reminds her a bit of Alicent in the early years, maybe—that very slight panic she feels at the thought of it, and that look—allergic as ever still to her daughter’s tears; half-rushing in with arms open and that noise in her head like a drumbeat: fix it, fix it, fix it—

And she’s such a hypocrite, to boot. Used to always be the one always preaching self-sufficiency, self-confidence, let her try. Holding Alicent’s hand in folding chairs sat beneath a little primary school stage—watching her staring out at the audience in her little costume with apprehensive eyes almost but not filling with tears—putting a hand on Alicent’s knee going no, don’t get up, she’s got it—and with a pride she could never even express, with a triumph she couldn’t help but feel, how she’d been loud and clear, emotionless though it was, declaring (like a Targaryen, really) her one, her only, perfect line.

(And she’d scurried back to them, after; wings and facepaint and all—smiling small and wide, reaching for Rhaenyra to lift her proud and possessive (my very own girl) into her arms, wresting messy hands in the silk of her jacket going Mummy I said it perfect and smiling that secret smile as Rhaenyra rocked her soft back and forth amid the noise and said you did, you did indeed, my little princess.)

Later, when she’d been asleep under Rhaenyra’s suit jacket in the car—

(Alicent, with that small smile, that fond one. Your little princess?

Rhaenyra at the stoplight, braking slow. That’s absolutely right.)

But gods above, if Alicent couldn’t have travelled literally any other week—

(She’d know, Rhaenyra knows; she’d know what to do.)

“Sweetling?” She knocks again at the bathroom, tries to set that panic aside. “Sweetling, I need you to tell Mummy what’s wrong.”

We never lock doors. It was something Alicent insisted upon, when they were small—we never lock doors, we always knock, your space is your own, your space is safe—gods alive if she doesn’t want to jimmy the lock now.

(The sound of those tears, intolerable as always.)

Jace is at football practice, so no one would see her hammer the handle off its screws, at least—

“Blood.”

“What? Helaena, what?” Rhaenyra presses her ear up against the door, tries the knob again—knocks uselessly. “What blood, love?”

“There’s blood.”

And then fucking absolutely not—pushing off and making for the utility closet and right it’s coming off the hinges—

The lock unclicks.

Helaena’s seated on the toilet, lid closed, when she tears in; tear tracks down her face and blood on her hands, and on the front of her little blue nightgown, and the inside of her knee.

(And Rhaenyra’s rushing rushing rushing—kneeling and wiping her tears and show me, show me—putting her hand on her little knee, okay, my love, just gentle, to move it—)

And then she sees the colour.

Oh.

(Sweet seven above, this week of all weeks you’ve gone.)

“Right.” She leans up, kisses her little brow; lets Helaena knot her fingers in the shoulders of her sweater, brackets her knees with her arms, focuses her. “Helaena.” She murmurs; waits for her eyes. “This is your moonblood. Do you remember what that means?”

Helaena nods. And then wet eyes are somewhere else. “Mummy told about it.”

When did that happen? (Of course she did.)

(Thank the gods for you, my love, and curse them all for this timing—)

Helaena’s hands are blood-stained; she places them away from herself, like she no longer wants them. Rhaenyra takes them in her own. “It’s perfectly alright, my love, yes? Nothing’s wrong.”

Helaena doesn’t reply.

“Mummy has it, too. And me.”

But Helaena’s still off somewhere else. Rhaenyra wipes a fresh round of tears from her cheeks; watches her hands fidget and her fingers splay, terribly disgusted, terribly uncomfortable, sticky—right, of course, sticky—stamps another kiss to her forehead and retrieves the wet cloth by the basin and crouches again—takes her hands, one by one, and rubs.

Wipes the speck off her knee, then; moves them apart, just gentle, to rid that smear inside of her knee, her thigh, and Helaena bites her lip.

“Mummy is home tonight,” she whispers.

(Rhaenyra knows it’s a question—they’d had to get conservative about travel estimates, eventually, especially when she was little, back when she’d been up and down from Scotland—Friday is an expectation, not a rule, remember—her daughter had never particularly appreciated that particular flexibility.)

“Yes, my love.” And she turns the cloth over to the clean side; reaches, deposits it in the linens bin by the sink. “She should be—” She checks her watch. “Well, she’d ought to be coming off the airplane just now, I expect.” Thumbs her little cheek. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Helaena nods.

Rhaenyra raises her brows; thumbs her chin. “Would you like to know a very special secret?”

Helaena seems to consider, for a moment; she watches her lower lip worry again, those eyebrows ever slightly raise. Gods you’re adorable. My little egg. “Yes please.”

“When my tummy’s hurting, this way, I’ve got to have a very nice, very hot lavender bubble bath. And that always makes it feel better.” She adjusts Helaena’s nightgown, then, wrinkled and stained. “And we’ll give your nightie a wash, too, shall we?”

Helaena fixes her fingers along the hem. Her voice is thick. “It’s ruined.”

“No, my love,” she says, even though yes, almost certainly, and gods I’m not sure I remember how to run the wash, actually. “Nothing’s ruined.” She smooths her hair; leaves her eventually, only ten minutes later, with her novel, and her tea on the tray table, and silver hair half-wet against a little bath pillow, and her tears dry. “It’s going to be right as rain.”

***

Some nights when her wife comes home she’d like nothing more than to push her onto the counter with their vibrator in hand—

(Unfortunately for that, they’ve had babies, and those babies have become something of a priority, in fact.)

Rhaenyra watches, almost simply, as Alicent murmurs hello, my heart, presses a kiss to her lips and sets a paper bag of a boatload of something from the pharmacy onto the countertop and heads immediately, calmly and surely, toward the bath.

“Helaena?” It’s only a couple knocks before she goes, slowly—Rhaenyra watches in the open door, only silently, as Helaena rockets her arms out of the water and mumbles Mummy and reaches—clings as Alicent presses a kiss to her forehead and smooths back wet strands, and Rhaenyra can hear it, soft.

You’re having a nice bath time, are you? Yeah? Does your tummy feel better? Another kiss to her brow. You gave your mummy quite a scare, there, didn’t you, love.

“Let me see these, then.” Alicent’s lifting her hand up, gentle; examining little fingers. “You’re going to be our little prune, soon, I think.” Squeezes them gently. “Is your towel rail on?”

Helaena nods. “Mummy turned it on.”

“She did, did she?” Stamps a kiss to her head. “Right. Go on and finish your bath, love, and come and sit with me, please? In Mummy’s room? And you’ll let your mummy speak with you for a minute?” Helaena nods, then; loosens her fingers from Alicent’s sweater, just slow. “Good girl.”

And then when she stands and passes—with her sleeves wet with bathwater, and her eyes tired—shuts the door and nudges Rhaenyra’s hip, just a little, to follow her into the hall.

Looks up under long lashes, half-smile. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take this one.”

Rhaenyra dimples her chin; exhales through the mouth. “Not my area of expertise, really.”

Her wife’s smile grows wider. “Haven’t had your moonblood, have you?” Raises a brow. “Is that why I’ve got the pleasure of the episiotomy, then?”

“Right, yeah—no, I just.” She drums her fingers along her waist; sighs. “I got mine at—well it was late. Like, late. Fifteen.”

“I well remember. Alicent, call me, it’s everywhere—”

“Thanks.”

“Please please it’s obscene—”

“Right, thank you—"

“You know my father got to that voicemail first.”

Rhaenyra shuts her eyes, inhales through the nose. “I’d like a divorce.”

“I told you I didn’t have a phone.”

“I am not hearing this evil.”

“Right.” And Alicent leans up; presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’ll start, then.” Takes her hands, just easy; rubs a little into her palms. “And maybe you could give us a few minutes? And then come join us?” Softer, then, with her eyes on their fingers. “You make her feel safe, you know.”

(Rhaenyra only nods.)

It’s when she pushes the door open, slow—to the lamplight, and the soft king bed, how it casts yellow on the silk.

Helaena’s tucked into her side, when she finds them; and Alicent, sitting with her legs folded. The paper bag’s on the ground.

(And before them, perhaps every single menstrual product invented by mankind—)

“And this one,” Alicent murmurs, gentle, hands something to her—Helaena takes it, ginger and gentle—“You use more than once. But you’ve got to clean it each time, and it’s got a special soap.”

Rhaenyra watches, for a moment, how methodically and easily and gently she moves through each one—and it’s got a sticky side, and you press it down, just like this—the way she tears plastic silent, the way she painstakingly never crinkles the paper—and this pushes just outward, just push right there—and this is just a little disc, love; it’s quite the same as the other—

And then it hits her, sort of from nowhere, sort of at once.

(You had to do this alone, didn’t you?)

She smooths Helaena’s hair, damp at the ends; adjusts her pyjama sleeve where it’s catching. “Does that all make sense, my love?”

And kisses her crown, again, gentle, before her eyes flicker upward—and that warmth, in sherry brown, same as always.

And that smile. “Ah, look who’s here.”

Helaena looks up—

And reaches, when Rhaenyra rests on the edge of the bed; captures two of her fingers, like she did when she was young.

Rhaenyra smiles, soft, as the owl hoos outside. “My little princess. You’ve been very brave today.” And looks up again; that brown, that auburn glow. “Got that from your mother, I think.”

***

When Helaena’s gone to sleep—when Rhaenyra’s hair’s wet and it’s the midnight hour, and the sky’s deep blue, and the moon amber—

Alicent’s bare in her arms; bare and smooth and silent—tracing circles on her chest.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, slow. “That you made it different.”

Alicent nods, again; almost as silent as the breeze.

“I’m never travelling again.”

(And Rhaenyra laughs, then, despite herself; there, together in the dark.)

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